Before the Dawn
by Bucken-Berry
Summary: "Finally he managed, "How long- how long will I have, if I can't get a heart transplant?" His voice was small, and it trembled with each word. He tried to ignore it, and keep his emotionless 'shrink mask'- but he was failing. He was terrified." Eventual G/OMC. On hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

A/N Thanks to Forward for the beta!

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone except for the original characters!

George glanced at his case file, sipping at his coffee in an attempt to make himself feel awake. He had felt fatigued all day, the kind of fatigue that seemed to make his body twice as heavy. Even worse, he could feel the deep ache in his muscles, and his head hurt. He shivered constantly, despite the fact that he was wearing a sweater, which meant that he had a rising fever. He was almost certain that he was coming down with a particularly powerful flu.

He just wanted to return home and curl up in his bed with a heating pad. But he knew that wasn't an option, with his caseload- he'd have to tough it out for the rest of the day.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, he began to cough, an uncontrollable bout that left him panting and gasping for breath. He rubbed his chest and coughed again, struggling to clear his lungs.

Eventually, George caught his breath, and he inhaled deeply, letting his lungs expand until they were completely full. Then he rested his head in one hand, even more completely drained of energy than he had been before.

With herculean effort, he raised his head as detectives Benson and Stabler entered the room. "Detectives, what can I do for you?" He asked quietly.

"Doc, we already told you- we need help with the Dawson case, remember?" Elliot asked.

"Oh… Yes, I remember…" George muttered, disoriented. He rubbed his forehead and gave a soft sigh as he searched through the files, only to find that it wasn't there. "Damn it, I can't find the file!" He exclaimed in annoyance. Then he began to cough again. He closed his eyes and held his chest, waiting for the fit to stop.

"Do you feel okay, doc?" Olivia asked worriedly. George nodded, inhaling quickly until he caught his breath again.

"I-" He sighed softly, not wanting to admit weakness. "I think I'm coming down with the flu or something, honestly," He admitted. "I feel like hell."

"You should go home. There's no use in you staying here if you're sick and you can't think straight," Elliot advised.

He shook his head. "No, I need to finish today. With our caseload, I can't just take off and leave you to try and come up with a profile."

"George," Olivia said gently, "You can't come up with a profile right now either. You can't think straight. Plus, you're going to get all of us sick."

George sighed softly in defeat. "Yes, I suppose. Just- call me if you need anything," George said. He stood, walking to the corner to retrieve his laptop and medical bag.

He frowned as his chest began to ache. He knew that chest pain was always a worrying sign; maybe he was sicker than he'd thought. Maybe he was developing pneumonia. The thought caused him to groan inwardly- that was the last thing he needed, to be forced to stay in bed for a week while he waited for his lungs to clear up.

He had passed his desk when, suddenly, the pain in his chest intensified, becoming an agonizing, stabbing pain. George gasped, almost dropping his laptop and medical bag.

"What's wrong, doc?" Elliot asked worriedly.

George shook his head, barely able to breathe, let alone speak, due to the pain. He managed to set his laptop down, then he held his chest and doubled over, crying out as the agony became unbearable.

"Doc, what happened?" Elliot asked. He and Olivia stood beside him, reaching to support him.

"M-my chest… it hurts like hell," George managed to gasp. He knew Elliot knew that, but it was all he could manage. He almost fell over, but Olivia and Elliot grabbed him before he did, and they gently eased him to the floor.

The movement, despite being slow and gentle, intensified the agony. He cried out in anguish, almost clawing at his chest in an attempt to alleviate the agony. George knew, with certainty, that something was terribly wrong. The torturous pain flared through his chest constantly; it felt like someone was stabbing his heart. What had felt like the flu was now something much worse.

"George, calm down, breathe…" Olivia soothed, rubbing his shoulder.

George closed his eyes, struggling to speak. "Oliv- AHHHH!" He screamed, overwhelmed by the torturous agony. His heart pounded in his chest, and he suddenly became aware that the beats were off. He could feel it; the rhythm was completely wrong.

He wondered briefly if he was having a heart attack, but he knew that the type of his pain didn't match. Heart attacks caused a sensation of pressure; stabbing pains were associated with other conditions, though they weren't necessarily less serious.

Through a pain-induced haze, he thought of the various conditions that could be causing his symptoms. A torn aorta would make sense, except for his flu-like symptoms, and the fact that he hadn't done anything that could cause a tear.

He gasped for breath- he could barely breathe, the pain was so terrible. "L… Livia…" He panted. He clenched his teeth, failing to bite back a curse. "Shit! This fucking hurts!"

He realized that he needed to go to a hospital. He tried to speak in complete sentences, but all he could manage was, "Ambulance!"

He closed his eyes, and everything else faded except for the pain. He couldn't hear anyone around him, and he only barely felt them pressing on his neck, checking his pulse. He struggled to breathe through the pain, grasping the bookshelf next to him to anchor him. Nothing existed except for the stabbing sensation in his chest.

Then the pain began to dull, too, and he knew that his body had reached its limit; it couldn't handle the agony anymore, and this was its way of stopping it. He relaxed, not fighting to stay conscious.

He welcomed the black void of unconsciousness with open arms.

Elliot called a bus, then he turned back to check on George. He was alarmed to see George struggle to hold on. "Hang on, doc," He began, but then he realized that George was too far gone to hear him. He sat next to him, trying to think of a way he could help without getting in Olivia's way.

Olivia heard George's breath hitch, and she became alarmed when he went limp. She quickly checked his pulse, alarmed to feel how rapid, weak, and thready the beats were. "How far out is that bus? He's really sick," Olivia said worriedly. She kept one hand on his neck, reaching the other up to his forehead. The skin was scorching hot, even though George was shivering almost constantly.

With how much pain George was in, Olivia had almost expected to find a gunshot wound- but there were no physical injuries. He must have been hiding how sick he really felt, Olivia thought. She'd never seen someone in so much pain without some devastating injury or illness.

She looked over at Elliot. "He has a sky-high fever, and his heartbeat is really-" She trailed off when George began to cough. She tipped him to his side and patted his back awkwardly, unsure of whether she should leave him alone or try to help clear his lungs.

Olivia set her ear in front of George's mouth and listened to his breathing. She could see that his breaths were labored, and once she listened, she heard a definite wheeze. His breathing was rapid and deep, as though he was oxygen-starved.

Elliot leaned forward and pressed his ear to George's chest. A look of alarm crossed his face, causing Olivia's stomach to tighten apprehensively. "What is it, El?" She asked.

"His heart… I think something's really wrong with his heart," Elliot said. "I'm not a doctor, but I'm certain that a heartbeat isn't supposed to sound like THAT."

"Like what?" Olivia asked, looking downwards at George, concern etched on her face. George was rarely ill, let alone like this- it had to be something terrible, if it was causing so much trouble.

Elliot struggled to explain what he'd heard. He knew some medical terms, but not enough to describe the sounds. "Basically, it sounds he has three heart sounds instead of two- instead of going, thump-thump, it's going, thump-thump-thump. And when he has normal heartbeats, they're really weak and they still sound wrong." Elliot tightened his fists nervously as he spoke.

Elliot glanced towards the door, fuming. "Damn it, how far away is that bus? They sure are taking their time!" He exclaimed in irritation.

"They'll be here soon," Olivia assured him. Elliot gritted his teeth and nodded.

They continued to wait, feeling their own hearts pound from fear for the doctor. They couldn't figure out what was happening to George, and they were afraid it might be more severe than they could guess.


	2. Chapter 2

"Just a minute or two until the bus gets here," Olivia said. She had moved to a window and could see it approaching the building.

"He's waking up," Elliot called. Olivia turned around and saw that George was stirring feebly, eyelids fluttering.

"Doc, can you wake up?" Elliot asked. He jogged George's shoulder, shaking him. "Wake up, George."

George moaned weakly as the excruciating pain assaulted him once again. He wondered how much time had passed since he'd lost consciousness, but it couldn't have been too long, since the EMT's hadn't arrived yet.

He struggled to lift his leaden eyelids in response to Elliot calling his name again. The use of his first name caught his attention- it was the first time Elliot had said "George" instead of "Huang" or "Doc", and that let him know how serious this was.

He looked up at them blearily. Even in his pained, fatigued haze, he could see the worry on their faces. "L… Livia… 'Liot…" He whispered. He tried to sit up, to see them better, but a hand immediately pressed on his chest, sending the message across wordlessly. _Save your strength._

"W… Why… does…" George was about to ask why his chest hurt so badly, but he knew it was a waste of energy. And with how much pain he was in, he had to focus on staying awake.

He suddenly became aware that he was completely breathless, even though he was breathing deeply. "I- can't- breathe," He wheezed. "I-"

"Just keep trying to breathe, doc," Elliot said softly. "Relax. Don't try to talk until you catch your breath."

Nodding silently, George laid back down, continuing to take quick, deep breaths in an attempt to ease the pain and discomfort. But instead of easing, the sensations intensified. His chest ached and throbbed agonizingly, and even though he was breathing deeply enough to completely fill his lungs, he wasn't getting enough air. The breathlessness and pain were even worse now that he was lying flat. He frowned, trying to diagnose himself.

Then he began to cough again, intensifying the breathlessness and the pain. A small, anguished sound escaped his lips and he shifted, curling into himself as his body struggled to tolerate whatever was happening in his chest. He couldn't believe it was possible to be in so much pain. It crashed over his body with each breath, making him whimper and shiver.

He struggled, panting and gasping for breath between his coughs. He began to feel lightheaded and dizzy; he wondered if he was going to pass out from lack of air. The way the room tipped and spun around him, the spots that began to fill his vision, and the faint, weak feeling combined, and made him feel like he was going to pass out at any moment.

He suddenly realized how tired he was. He felt a vague sense of danger, a warning that he should try to stay awake- but why? He was too exhausted to remember. He just wanted to lean back and fall asleep- there wasn't anything wrong with that, he reasoned.

He was so tired…

George sighed softly, closing his eyes. The calm, quiet, painless darkness began to overtake him again. His mind was sluggish, his body heavy; he felt too peaceful and sleepy to resist the tempting pull.

"Stay awake!" He heard someone say. He was too tired to pay attention to who it was. He ignored them, but then the person shook him, and he moaned in protest. He just wanted to sleep- why wouldn't they let him?

Then he heard the door open, and a second later he was being prodded by more people. A blood pressure cuff was attached to his arm, and fingers pressed against his wrist, taking his pulse. Something icy cold- a stethoscope, he realized- was pushed under his shirt and against his skin, directly over his heart. He shivered heavily and tried to squirm away, but he didn't have the strength.

The people- he heard a man and a woman- shouted various measurements out, and George listened with mild interest. "He's extremely tachycardic- 180 beats per minute- he's hypotensive at 70/60, auscultation shows that he has a third heart sound and an arrhythmia," The man called.

"Can you hear me?" The female EMT asked loudly. George didn't answer, but then they rubbed his eyebrows roughly`- he knew that they were trying to make him respond so they could assess his level of consciousness. He gave a small sound of pain, but he couldn't muster the energy to move away or speak. "Can you hear me?" She repeated.

"Unh…" He struggled, trying to form a more coherent response. "Y… yes…"

"Can you squeeze my hand?" She asked.

George once again struggled to complete the task, but he managed- though he held the person's hand, rather than squeezing. He was too weak to do anything more. He hoped that that would be enough to appease them, so they'd let him sleep. He was slightly worried about the sudden deterioration, but the emotion was muffled by everything else.

"My name's Lisa. Can you tell me your name, the date, and where you are?" The woman asked softly, squeezing his hand comfortingly.

"My… name's… George…" He panted. Talking was difficult, with how short of breath he was, but he forced himself to continue. "And… where I am?" He frowned, thinking. He knew it shouldn't be taking him this long to remember, but he couldn't think clearly; it was as though a thick fog had covered his brain. Finally he remembered Elliot and Olivia being there, and then he knew where he had to be. "I'm at the 16th precinct… and the date…" This time, he was stumped. He had absolutely no idea; he couldn't tell if it was winter or summer, let alone the month or day.

He felt his mind clouding more and more by the second; he couldn't think clearly anymore. He felt confused, disoriented.

"Yes?" Lisa prompted, squeezing his hand.

"Yes, what?" George muttered dazedly. He closed his eyes in weariness. When were they going to let him sleep?

"He's out of it," "He's out of it," He heard a concerned voice- it sounded like Elliot, but he wasn't sure.

George frowned. "El? Liv? Where're 'ou?" He asked quietly. His voice was almost inaudible, and laced with pain, fatigue, and confusion. He could hear how much his words slurred, and that worried him.

"Shh, relax," Lisa said. "Are you having any trouble breathing?"

"Mm-hmm," George hummed in response.

"We'll get you an oxygen mask soon, okay?" She said. She touched his forehead, which he realized was wet. Sweat- he was sweating- but why? He was cold, not warm. The shivers that had started to run through his frame were proof of that.

The shivers intensified, making his entire body shake, and his teeth chattered. He curled into himself as much as he could, but the EMT's prevented him from doing so. "Stay still," They told him.

His brain had grown so clouded over the last few minutes that it was difficult to think, let alone speak. "M'cold… can some'ne?-" He began incoherently. He was trying to ask for a coat, or a blanket, but the words weren't forming correctly. He lapsed into semi-delirious mumbling, trying to convey his thoughts despite his fevered state. "R'lly cold…"

"George, we're going to lift you up, okay?" The woman asked. Her voice was so gentle- it was almost like she was trying to soothe a child. Part of him felt insulted at being addressed this way, but he also appreciated the kind, gentle, soothing voice. "Squeeze my hand if you understand, okay, George?"

He managed to nod slightly and squeeze her hand. They counted to three, and then lifted him onto the stretcher. To his relief, they elevated the stretcher slightly; the breathlessness eased somewhat when he wasn't lying flat. It was still difficult, but less so.

George leaned back and rested his head. The slow motion of the stretcher lulled him, even with the occasional jostling bump.

"He's passing out," The male EMT- he'd never heard his name- told Lisa.

"George, stay awake," Lisa instructed.

He tried to open his eyes, but his entire body was hopelessly weighed down. It was like trying to lift a boulder. He couldn't even muster the energy to hum in response.

The EMT's lifted him into the ambulance and attached an oxygen mask to his face. He sighed inwardly, allowing himself to stop struggling against the sensations in his body.

Darkness consumed him, tugged him into its depths, and he didn't offer any resistance. He was vaguely aware of being attached to a heart monitor, and the ambulance starting, as he drifted off.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Please review!

George woke up again, feeling sicker than he ever had in his life. His entire body ached, and his head pounded. The pain in his chest, and a rolling sensation in his stomach, caused him to become nauseated. He retched several times, and someone tipped him to his side as he vomited. It burned his throat, which already had felt like it had been scratched raw with a razor, and it made his stomach hurt.

The nausea eventually abated, and they returned him to his position on his back. He slumped backwards, completely devoid of energy. His head lolled, almost to his shoulder.

"Can you wake up?" A vague male voice called. George fought to open his eyes and let him know he was conscious.

Finally he forced his eyes open and saw that he was still in the ambulance. He looked at the EMT's blearily, watching them record his vitals. "Nngh… I… I'm awake…" He managed.

He shivered heavily, teeth chattering- the blanket they'd covered him with did little to help the chills. Especially because of the sweat streaming down his face. He couldn't tell whether he was sweating because of his fever, or something else. He couldn't think clearly enough.

He groaned softly, struggling to lift a heavy arm and press against his burning, throbbing chest. The stabbing pain refused to relent.

He faded in and out of reality for several minutes; every so often the world around him vanished, and nothing existed except for the pain. Then he'd return to a semi-conscious state, thoroughly disoriented, and he'd gradually become more alert.

It was hard to even breathe, because of the pain, but he managed to stay mostly conscious throughout the rest of the ride, and they soon arrived at a hospital.

They rolled the stretcher inside, and immediately, several doctors crowded around him. The EMT's told the doctors about him, and his current condition. He was surrounded by a flurry of activity, so it was hard to hear anything they were saying.

He looked up at them, becoming disoriented by the fast motion of the stretcher, combined with the doctor's blurred faces above him.

"Can you hear me?" A young-looking man asked, shouting to be heard over the other noises.

He blinked confusedly for a few seconds before the words registered. He nodded, not having the energy to talk loud enough to be heard.

"Hi, I'm Doctor Miller. We're going to be running a battery of tests on you. Stay awake as long as you can, okay?" The doctor waited for George to nod slowly. "Are you in any pain?"

Just as George was about to answer, the pain increased again, cresting in a sharp, agonizing wave. He gasped and nodded, groaning, "C-chest!" His voice was a weak, harsh rasp, and he doubted Doctor Miller heard him. But George knew the doctor did see the expression on his face; the pain was evident in every tense line of his body.

"We'll get you some pain medicine, okay?" Doctor Miller asked softly. George processed the information for several moments; he had to run the words over several times, because he was having such difficulty focusing. Eventually he nodded again, closing his eyes. He flinched as he felt an IV being inserted, but he also felt relief wash over him. The pain medicine would only take a few minutes to kick in.

But the feeling of relief vanished quickly. The pain became unbearable again, making him grind his teeth to stop himself from crying out. He was sweating even more than he had been earlier, and at least some of it was because of the pain.

"This r'lly 'urts!" George whispered hoarsely. His legs squirmed, protesting against the pain.

He took shallow breaths and tried to focus on the doctor's voices. "Check for infection… And run an EKG; the sweating is probably pain and fever, but it could also be a heart problem…"

His consciousness clouded again, making it feel like his brain was made of wet cement. George's eyes fluttered, barely having the energy to stay open. "Mm… t'red…" He whispered, words slurring.

Doctor Miller wouldn't have heard him if it wasn't for the fact that he was right next to George. "Stay awake, okay?" He instructed.

George gave a slight nod, but fatigue forced him to close his eyes.

Then the machines began to beep in warning. He heard someone shouting, "Crashing!" as he fell back into unconsciousness.

Consciousness crept in slowly. First he became aware of his body, feeling his heavy form. Then his sense of touch, which let him feel the blanket covering him and the various needles in his arms and legs. Then he caught the antiseptic smell, confirming where he was.

He heard a distant voice drifting towards him. "He's in critical condition… he has an infection, we're running tests to figure out what. It's causing cardiac problems, so we're testing to see if the infection's attacking his heart."

He caught only a few of the words being said. He heard them, but he couldn't understand any of them. His mind was sluggish, his body heavy and thankfully pain-free.

His throat felt odd, though. Scratchy. Deciding he wanted to clear his throat, he coughed- or, at least, he tried to.

That was when he discovered the large tube that was shoved in his throat. Panic tore through him and his arm flailed slightly; with all the morphine in his system, he couldn't move. His eyes flew open and he struggled in vain, trying to remove the tube.

"Doctor Huang, calm down," A doctor- different than the one from the ER- instructed, grabbing his arms.

He gave a small sound of fear, garbled by the thing lodged in his throat. He tried to sit up again; the adrenaline flowing through his veins demanded that he move.

The doctor gently pushed against his chest and said, "You've contracted a serious infection, and you're in unstable condition. The tube is hooking you up to a ventilator, because we think you'll need help breathing for a while. Squeeze my hand if you understand."

George struggled against the heavy drugs in his system, but he accomplished the task. His heart pounded wildly against his ribcage.

The doctor glanced at the heart monitor, which was beeping rapidly to alert him that George's heart rate had increased significantly. "Relax, okay?" He requested gently.

George nodded, and the doctor continued looking him over. After a few seconds, George began to feel his confusion increasing, now that the adrenaline was wearing off. He closed his eyes, trying to ease the fear. His body would fight the infection off, even if it was in his heart.

When he opened his eyes again, he was in a fevered delirium, and too disoriented to even worry about his body's condition. The pain was there, but his mind was unable to process it, making it more like a slight annoyance than anything. But not being aware enough to feel it was a definite blessing.

He shifted restlessly, not sure _why _he had to move, but unable to stop. Blurred figures occasionally stood over him, poking and prodding at him, and trying to stop him from tossing and turning. He fell asleep again, and this time he had vivid fever dreams.

He drifted in and out of consciousness, but even when he was awake, he wasn't lucid enough for it to be considered true wakefulness.

The closest he got to being alert was the sense of panic that overtook him every time he noticed the breathing tube in his throat.


	4. Chapter 4

Alex Cabot had just finished the last case of the day- the man was found guilty, which made her slightly happier than usual- and was heading out to get dinner when her cell phone rang. Frowning slightly, she answered, "Hello?"

"This is New York Presbyterian Hospital," A woman said. "George Huang was admitted here today, and you're listed as his medical proxy. We've been trying to reach you for a while."

Looking at her cell phone, Alex saw that she had missed nearly a dozen calls in the few hours she'd been in court. Worry rose with a vengeance as she said, "Yes, we made each other our medical proxies because we don't have anyone else. Is George hurt?"

Visions of her friend being attacked in interrogation presented themselves, and she was reminded of the Brodus case. She shook the thought out of her head- she could go her whole life without remembering that again, and she wouldn't mind at all.

The voice on the other line brought her back to reality. "No, but he's critically ill," The woman said compassionately. "He has an overwhelming infection, and we've had to place him on a ventilator. He nearly died of an arrhythmia when he first entered the ER; we had to shock his heart to stop the rhythm."

Cold, numb shock washed over her. George had always been so healthy; he never seemed to get any of the bugs that went around. For him to suddenly contract a life-threatening infection… "I-I'll be right there," Alex stammered, already hurrying back to the parking lot. She hung up and, a few minutes later, reached her car.

She drove just barely under the speed limit the whole time, rushing as fast as she could through the heavy traffic. After what felt like years, she finally arrived. She paid extra for valet parking, not because she wanted it, but because it was faster; she could get to George quicker if she didn't have to find an empty spot in the hospital's parking garage.

She walked inside and to the front desk, out of breath and panting.

"May I help you?" A kind looking woman asked.

"Yeah, I'm here to see George Huang," She replied.

The woman nodded. "He's in the ICU. It's on the third floor."

Alex speed-walked to the elevator, quickly losing herself in her own thoughts. She and George had always been close; she had been one of the first to trust him, and he had responded in kind. Eventually they had agreed to be each other's medical proxies and, for all legal purposes, next of kin. Neither one had romantic feelings for the other, and the knowledge that she had a friend- nothing more, nothing less- she could trust with her life always made her feel good.

She'd never imagined that she'd have to do anything like this, though. She hadn't expected either of them to ever end up in the ICU, but if it was to happen, she would have supposed it was because he had been attacked while interrogating a suspect; never because of a potentially deadly infection.

Finally, she arrived on the third floor and entered the ICU. She sucked in a shocked breath and shuddered nervously as she took George's condition in. He looked like death, and the mere thought terrified her more than any situation she'd ever faced. George had always been small and compact, but he'd still always looked _healthy_. Even after the Brodus fiasco, he'd looked like he was in pain, but he'd still never given any signs that he wasn't going to make it.

But now, he looked sicker than any previously healthy person should. His face was flushed with fever, but the rest of his body was alarmingly pale. The ventilator obscured part of his face, which was covered in sweat. Even though he was unconscious, he was in pain; she could see it on every tense line of his face.

"What's wrong with him?" Alex whispered to the nurse who was checking George's vitals.

The nurse gave her a sad smile. "He has an infection that we think is attacking his heart. We don't know much else besides that though; we're just treating him with broad-spectrum antibiotics, giving him IV fluids and nutrients, and monitoring his heart rhythm and other vitals."

"Why is he in pain?" Alex asked, touching George's limp hand. His skin was scorching hot from fever; glancing at the chart the nurse had in her hand, she saw that George's temperature was over 104 degrees. That was high enough to cause delirium and hallucinations, Alex thought in dismay.

"He's heavily sedated, but there's only so much even morphine can do," The nurse said softly. "We almost had to restrain him, because he's been delirious, but his attending decided against it. He had been in and out of consciousness, but as of now, he's been unconscious for several hours. He isn't sleeping very well, but he isn't thrashing like he was earlier, either. So we'll keep sedating him and hope that his sleep becomes a little less troubled. It might be a while before he wakes up, if he does at all."

Alex swallowed visibly, taking it all in, and asked, "Is he going to die?"

"His odds are about even," The nurse said. "Once an infection starts attacking the heart, it's really hard for us to reach it to get it out- we may have to excise the tissue. But he's a fighter, and that's good; that can make all the difference."

Alex had heard that same thing many times before, however, and she knew that when it came down to it, if people were fated to die, they were going to die. Being a fighter would make a difference in some cases, but there came a point when it would do no good…

Shaking the thought out of her head, she cleared her throat to say, "Thank you."

"Call if you need anything," The nurse said.

"Thank you, uh…" Alex trailed off.

"Sally," She supplied with a friendly nod.

"Sally. Thanks," Alex said. She turned back to George and grasped his hand, gently rubbing his palm.

"What the hell happened?" She fumed to herself. George had been perfectly fine yesterday. He had looked like he might be coming down with the flu, but that was about it. He certainly hadn't looked like he was coming down with a _heart infection._

She sighed softly in frustration. It seemed like George was always getting overlooked one way or another. "Hang in there for me, okay?" She asked softly. She didn't have anything else to say, so she just sat there silently, watching George sleep.

Unaware of his silent observer, the sickly man slept fitfully. Distress was clear on his face. He frowned deeply, furrowing his eyebrows. Sweat continued to cover his face as he shifted restlessly- or tried to, Alex could tell that the medication was hindering his movements- as he battled against the fever dreams. His jaw moved, and Alex knew that if it wasn't for the breathing tube, George would be making small, frantic sounds in response to the nightmare- moans, maybe, or even outright cries.

As it was, an almost inaudible whimper came from him. Alex stroked his eyebrow with her thumb, feeling him begin to relax somewhat at the contact. She didn't feel uncomfortable with the intimate touch; the need to ease George's pain was too pressing.

George's eyelids began to flutter. Alex held her breath, wondering if George would be able to wake up, or if he would be too heavily drugged to accomplish the task.

A small sound escaped him,garbled by the breathing tube. Alex realized that he was trying to breathe on his own, and was becoming alarmed at the breathing tube he found instead; his arm began to flail slightly as he tried to raise it to his throat.

Unsure if she wanted George to wake up or not, Alex sat there, continuing to stroke his forehead comfortingly; not lulling him to sleep, but not rousing him, either. But then George jolted awake, and his hand immediately went to his throat. Alex grasped his hands and called for a nurse, trying to calm him down enough to let the nurse sedate him again.

_The dark figures leaned over him, forcing something down his throat. He couldn't breathe. He tried to take it out, but he was frozen in place, and nothing he did could fix it._

_The figures leered at him and left him alone. He tried to cough the tube out, tried to breathe around it- but nothing worked._

_He had to get it out! He fought with every cell in his body, trying to force his body to move-_

George's eyes shot open. His heart gyrated and his fists jerked, striking out at whatever was nearby. He was trembling and shivering, covered in sweat. The panic accelerated and he grabbed at his throat. The tube was still lodged there- he had to get it out-

"Whoa, calm down!" Someone yelled, jumping off the chair and grabbing the thrashing man. "Leave it alone! It's helping you breathe. Calm down!" A hand pulled his own away from his throat. He turned his sweaty head and his fearful eyes finally focused.

"George, it's me. Alex. Calm down, okay?" Alex instructed.

George pointed at his throat agitatedly.

"I know. You can't breathe on your own, so it has to stay in," Alex said soothingly. She frowned slightly, and, seeing George's puzzled expression, added, "You weren't supposed to wake up for a while."

George tried to convey the sense of panic he'd felt, and finally settled for pointing at the still-racing heart monitor.

"Don't be afraid," Alex said softly, moving to embrace him. George was surprised at the gesture, but he accepted it, moving one of his jello-like arms to hug her back. "You're in serious condition, but if I know you half as well as I think you do, that isn't going to matter."

George blinked, and Alex could tell that if the doctors had told him exactly what was wrong, he could no longer remember it- probably the morphine. Morphine really messed with people, she knew from experience.

"Do you remember anything that happened?" She asked.

George gave a slight nod, pointing at his chest to convey that it had been hurting him.

"Well, they think you have a heart infection," Alex told him. George's eyes widened slightly. "I'm going to ask the nurse to get a doctor to explain more, okay?" George squeezed her hand and nodded.

Sally arrived just then and glanced at the heart monitor. "You with us?" She asked George.

George nodded confusedly, trying to remember what had happened. All he remembered was agonizing pain in his chest, blacking out on the stretcher, and then waking up here.

"You haven't really been lucid, honey," The nurse said gently, setting a hand on his shoulder. "High fever'll do that to you. I'll go ask a doctor to come talk to you, okay?"

George nodded again. The nurse left, and he sat in anticipatory silence with Alex.

The doctor walked in a few minutes later. He introduced himself, "I'm Doctor Thompson."

He began to take George's vitals and explained, "We think a bacterial infection is attacking your heart, and it's causing it to malfunction. When you first arrived, you were having a near-fatal arrhythmia. We had to shock your heart to get it beating normally."

George glanced down and saw that the skin on his chest was red and irritated, right where they would have put the defibrillator pads. He looked back up at the doctor, a silent question clear in his eyes.

"We haven't seen the arrhythmia return yet," The doctor told him, "But the fact that it's there at all is a worrying sign, especially combined with your other symptoms. We may have to perform emergency surgery if it gets worse."

George's eyes widened slightly, and the heart rate monitor sped up again. Doctor Thompson gently set his hand on his shoulder and said, "You're in rough shape, but we're going to do everything we can to treat you and identify the cause of your symptoms. We'll make sure you're okay."

George shuddered, but nodded his acceptance. He raised his hand to rub at his scratchy throat, wincing in irritation.

"We'll get you some more pain medicine," Doctor Thompson assured him. "That should help you sleep more soundly, as well, and it should take care of the transitory delirium, as well."

George shivered again and squeezed Alex's hand. She returned the pressure on George's hand and looked at George's doctor. "Thank you for explaining this."

"You're welcome," He said. He stood and walked out of the room, leaving them in relative silence while another nurse entered and began to administer some medication to George. She injected some more morphine in George's IV, and George gave an inward sigh, knowing he would drift off in a few minutes.

Alex shifted, as if to stand up, and George tugged desperately at her wrist, silently pleading for her not to leave him alone.

"Don't worry, George, I'm staying here," Alex assured him. "I'll be here when you wake up, okay?"

She set her hand on his head and stroked his tangled hair, giving a small smile as she began to untangle some of the knots. George closed his eyes, and would have sighed in pleasure if he could.

Eventually, he relaxed enough to drift off again, feeling reassured knowing that even if worst came to worst, he would at least have a friend with him.

Once George had fallen asleep, Alex leaned back slightly, scrutinizing George's appearance yet again. She knew that George waking up, even being lucid, didn't guarantee that he would make it, and that frustrated her. She wanted a sign that her friend would survive this ordeal.

She shook her head, trying to make sense of the situation again. George could _die _from this.

"Hang in there, George," She urged, closing her eyes.

Alex wasn't the praying type; she wasn't even the type to believe in god at all. Yet she still prayed to whatever higher being might possibly exist, a desperate plea, to spare George and let him recover.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews!

George blinked his eyes open again, unable to deduce how long it had been since he'd last been awake. He felt confused and disoriented, and he had to take several minutes to try and clear his head.

The antiseptic smell told him that he was in the hospital. He was surrounded by beeping machines, and hooked up to a slew of tubes and wires, ranging from an IV to a Foley catheter to a heart monitor.

He tried to breathe, and he discovered the ventilator tube again. He tried to cough it out, but then he heard movement next to him. He opened his eyes and saw Alex sitting beside him.

"Shh, George, it's okay," She said, moving to sit as close to him as she could without disturbing the machines George was connected to. "You've been out a while. About two days, actually."

George blinked confusedly, and Alex clarified, "You haven't been unconscious that entire time. You woke up sometimes, but you were really out of it. You were delirious, most of the time."

George sighed inwardly and nodded, looking down at his hands. He remembered being told that he most likely had a heart infection, but he remembered little else. He looked at Alex again and tugged at the IV, then stroked his chest, trying to convey that he wanted to know if they'd confirmed the infection.

"I'll get you a pen and paper, so I don't have to guess what you mean," Alex said. She retrieved a notepad and a pen, handing them to George.

George wrote, _did they find out for sure what's making me sick?_

Alex shook her head. "They don't know for sure. They're treating you with antibiotics anyway, though, because it's standard protocol for severe symptoms where they can't figure out the cause- they have to assume it's an overwhelming bacterial infection. Waiting for the result would have them knowing what medicine to use on a patient who'd been dead for days. They don't know for certain if you have an infection yet, but they are pretty sure, because you're responding to the antibiotic; your fever's gone down. It spiked to 105 for a while, and they were worried you were becoming septic, but it finally went down a few hours ago."

George saw the worry on her face as she spoke, and he knew he'd been in even worse shape than she'd let on. He shuddered slightly, not wanting to think about what he must've looked like. He probably still looked just as sick, but if he was conscious, it had to look slightly better than when he was unconscious, or when he was awake but delirious.

Alex also looked tired, George noticed. He grasped the pen again and wrote, _have you gone home or gotten any sleep since I was admitted? You shouldn't drop everything just because I contracted an infection, even if it is serious enough for them to admit me._

"George, this is different," Alex said, shaking her head. "I haven't gotten much sleep the last few days, but this is more important. You still aren't out of the woods. If you were here because a patient attacked you or you had gotten surgery or something, I would go home for a while, but you're still in critical and unstable condition. I need to stay here until they know you're going to make it."

George closed his eyes for a moment and nodded, accepting the truth of her words. He didn't like thinking it, but if he truly did have a heart infection, he could die at any moment, and if that happened, he wanted Alex there- he didn't want to die alone. Even if he survived, he could end up with permanent impairment, and he wanted someone there to support him through that.

He began to feel panic grip him as he realized just how grim his situation was. If it turned out the infection had been caught early, his prognosis would be good, but what if it had been asymptomatic for a long time? His heart might end up being too damaged to function, and it would just… shut down.

He set the pen on the paper and began to write as quickly as he could, because he was so desperate to voice his fear. Frantically, desperately, he wrote, _I'm not going to survive, am I? I'm going to die!_

"No, George, you aren't going to die," Alex said, shaking her head. "There's a risk of it happening, and they may not be able to say for sure, but I can. You're going to be fine. The doctors won't let you die. _I_ won't let you die."

George shook his head, closing his eyes as he felt overwhelming, hopeless dread crash over him. Alex's words were just as likely to be an empty promise as they were to be true. George knew she was just trying to calm him down so his pulse wouldn't be dangerously elevated, and the words she was using to calm him down may have sounded comforting, but George knew they weren't certain.

George knew he had every reason to panic; he could die at any minute. And the ER doctor's best efforts weren't guaranteed to prevent that outcome. Every heartbeat could be his last, and he would have no way of knowing until darkness engulfed him and he was gone.

The heart rate monitor began to beep louder, alerting them that his pulse was racing. He had been tachycardic since the infection had started, usually around 120 beats per minute, but now the machine showed that he was at 150, and climbing rapidly.

"Shh, George, calm down," Alex soothed, moving closer to him and embracing him tightly, "You don't want to tax your heart more than it already is. Calm down, it'll be okay. The doctors here are really good, they'll make sure you survive this. You'll be okay; there's no need to panic."

George buried his face in Alex's neck, trying to conceal the tears that had started to fall. If he could breathe on his own, his breaths would have been ragged and shuddering from sobs and fear.

Alex wrapped her arms around him gently, holding him and continuing to murmur soft, soothing words of comfort in his ear. She was afraid that her friend was going to die, and she wanted to cry at the mere thought- so she knew it had to be much worse for George, being that he was the one who was sick.

The day before, she had called Elliot and Olivia and gotten the full story, and she shivered when she thought about it. Being fine one second, and then being overwhelmed by agonizing chest pain; being too confused to understand what was going on; having to be shocked by a defibrillator to stop an arrhythmia; and waking up in the ICU with doctors saying that the prognosis was grim- it had to have been hell. The pain and fear, the confusion and fatigue…

Alex took a deep, steadying breath, knowing that she had to act stronger, calmer, and steadier than she felt in order to comfort George and calm him down. His heart was beating dangerously fast, and she had to help him slow it down. Alex could- and would- deal with her own worries later.

She slowly stroked George's back, feeling the tension gradually drain from his body. It was a slow process, and several times she considered calling a nurse and asking for George to be given a sedative, but she decided against it. George had spent the last several days being medicated, and if he didn't absolutely have to be medicated, she didn't want him to be.

"You okay?" Alex whispered in his ear when she felt him still.

George shook his head, tightening his hold on her waist. Alex set her hand on his head and stroked his hair, trying to help him relax- but to no avail. His heart rate had lessened, but she could clearly see how distressed he was.

Finally George broke away and grabbed the pen and paper again, scrawling hastily. After a few moments he looked at her, despair clear in his eyes. She grabbed the paper and read, _I'm going to die. I'm not ready yet! I'm only 45!_

"I know you're afraid," Alex began quietly, running her hand through George's hair. "But I'm not going to let you die. You're really sick, and you're in rough shape, but you're going to survive this. Even if it means you have some permanent problems, you won't die. You're the strongest person I know, and if anyone can do this, it's you."

George shuddered heavily, but nodded. His hand still shook, an aftereffect of the panic attack; it was all the residual adrenaline in his system.

George rested his head on Alex's shoulder, closing his suddenly heavy eyes. Tiredly, he picked the paper and pen up again, and slowly wrote, _thank you. You're a good friend._

"Don't mention it. Make it up to me by getting better," Alex told him softly. George nodded again.

"Hey, George?" Alex asked softly, nudging him. George squeezed her hand gently to tell her that he heard her. "You're a good friend, too." She inhaled deeply and asked, "Do you want me to ask the nurse to sedate you, or do you think you can sleep on your own?"

George wrote, _I'm too tired to keep my eyes open. Sleep isn't a problem._

"Okay then," Alex said. She hugged her friend tightly, then eased him back into a lying position. "Sleep well. I'll be here when you wake up."

George nodded and leaned back, eyelids drifting shut as he lost the battle to keep them open, no longer having the energy.

With slow, uncoordinated movements that mirrored how fatigued he was, he clasped Alex's hand and set it on his head, trying to get her to run her hand through his hair again. He gave the closest thing to a grin he could manage with the breathing tube in his throat. As terrified as he felt at the moment, he was also extremely grateful for Alex's friendship. She was the best friend he could ever hope for, and he knew he was a good friend to her too; he would do the same for her if the roles were reversed.

He had started to drift off when he began to feel cold again. He began to shiver heavily, causing Alex to frown and feel his forehead. It was only then that George noticed he had begun to sweat; a cold sweat that drenched every inch of his face. "You're getting warmer again," She said worriedly. "Your fever had been coming down, but it's spiked again."

He began to feel lightheaded and dizzy. He reached his hand to his temple, closing his eyes as the room tipped and spun around him. He became aware of his heart beating far too slow in his chest, so weak and irregular that his brain wasn't getting enough oxygen. Black spots danced in front of him, threatening to engulf his vision.

Alex pressed the call button for a nurse. A few seconds later, one appeared- different than the one who had been there when George had woken up the first time- and began to take his vitals. George continued to shiver, chilled to his bones, even if he did have a fever. Alex covered him with the blanket, but it still wasn't enough. And to make matters worse, George felt himself growing dazed and confused again, much like he had in his office.

"The arrhythmia is back," The nurse noted. "I'm going to page your attending."

George would have stayed awake until the doctor came back, but the mental fog returned in full force. He blinked dazedly for several minutes, thoroughly disoriented, barely able to remember where he was, let alone why. He could barely remember anything that had happened.

He lost consciousness suddenly, and was only vaguely aware of Alex shouting in fear. Seconds later, he felt a sharp, agonizing burn on his chest, and it brought him back, momentarily.

He opened his eyes and saw a group of doctors and nurses around him, one holding a defibrillator and another pressing against his chest, ready to start CPR and shock him again if his pulse didn't stabilize.

Alex wasn't there anymore, he noted to his distress. They must have ordered her out of the room while they tried to resuscitate him. But he wanted her here- he didn't want to die at all, but dying alone would be even worse, he wanted his friend to tell him it would be okay even if it wasn't-

He felt darkness creep in again, and he heard the doctors shouting to each other. This time, his pulse must have actually stopped, because when he was alert again, the heart monitor was emitting a high-pitched wail, and his ribs ached in a way that left no doubt that they had been broken by someone doing chest compressions. He felt the agonizing electricity on his chest again, and automatically, against his volition, his body arched off the bed before collapsing, completely limp.

"Save me," He wanted to beg. But no sound came; the tube blocked it.

His chest felt like it was about to explode. The electricity, his broken ribs, agitated by the ventilator making his chest expand fully, and his pounding, ailing heart- it was too much- they weren't going to succeed, he had only seconds left and he was going to spend them in agony and surrounded by complete strangers-

But just as it became unbearable, the pain began to ebb. He heard the heart monitor begin to stabilize. The doctors continued to check various vital signs, then they took several vials of blood. Eventually they dispersed, leaving only one nurse in the room.

George gradually became aware of his body- besides his chest- again. He was still freezing cold, due to the rising fever. Every muscle, head to toe, ached, especially his chest. His face was drenched, both from sweat and his tears of pain.

He debated whether to open his eyes, but the pain brought his mind back into focus, and he knew he needed to know what had happened, if he could stay awake that long.

Alex came bursting back in the room. He was too weak to move, but he managed to open his eyes and look at her, nodding to let her know he was awake.

"You left us for a while," Alex whispered, trembling from fear.

He nodded once, closing his eyes. "I told you, you couldn't stop this," He thought hopelessly.

Alex hugged him, being careful to avoid moving his broken ribs. The doctors couldn't wrap them, because they might need access to his chest later, and that made the pain worse. The nurse injected some morphine into his IV, though, and he knew it would be alleviated soon.

George's body shook from silent sobs. "What went wrong?" He wondered, dismayed. He had felt fine until that day. Alex had said that he looked like he might be getting a cold or a flu, but he'd been fine… and now all this. He was as sick as someone could be, barely toeing the line between life and death.

The nurse handed them another blanket, which Alex covered George with immediately. It helped to take his shivers away, somewhat, but not completely.

"I'm going to stay here," Alex assured him. George nodded, more grateful than ever for their friendship.

Then he closed his eyes; despite his panic, and his fear that if he fell asleep, he wouldn't wake up, he just couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.

Once again, he experienced vivid fever dreams and a frantic delirium. For another entire day, he slept fitfully, restlessly turning his head. He only occasionally became aware enough to feel the cold cloth being run over his forehead in slow, soothing patterns. His body demanded sleep almost constantly, and he rarely gained enough strength to awaken.

The second time he regained consciousness, he became vaguely aware of a sensation in his chest, one he couldn't have described even if he was lucid. It was like he could _feel _his internal organs struggling, even beginning to shut down. He felt like he was floating, and though some part of him knew that his condition had taken a sharp nosedive, that his condition was absolutely critical, he was too tired to care.

Even though something within him knew this was probably what death felt like, he was now too disoriented to feel panicked. If he was dying, at least he no longer felt any pain.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry it's been so long since I updated this. I really don't have an excuse. :( I hope you guys haven't lost interest in this story! Don't worry, I'm not going to abandon it and I promise never to go that long without updating again.

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George slowly regained consciousness, and after several confusing seconds, he remembered where he was and what had happened.

He tried to blink, but his eyelids merely fluttered several times before he gave up and let them remain closed. He wasn't surprised that he couldn't wake up, though; he felt overwhelmingly weak, and he felt as though all the energy in his body had dissipated.

George heard someone moving beside him- it was either a nurse, a doctor, or Alex, he knew- and waited. It turned out to be a nurse; he felt the vein near his elbow being pierced by a needle a second later. As usual, he didn't flinch; he was too lethargic to even care about the explosions of agony in his chest, cresting in waves that not even morphine could soothe, let alone the slight pinch in his arm.

He vaguely wondered how much bloodwork they'd already run on him, and if it would do him any good. He could feel a pull, not in any particular direction, but definitely there. Everything felt so distant, and he felt like at any moment, it would all vanish and he would simply float away. He could feel himself fading.

Suddenly, he heard a worried-sounding voice next to him. Alex. "Why hasn't he woken up in so long? Before, he at least woke up for a few minutes- he was delirious and completely out of it, but awake. But now he's been unconscious for two days. When is he going to wake up?" Alex asked. "Is he… is he even going to wake up again?"

"Didn't you ask his attending about this?" The nurse asked softly. "He should have explained everything about Doctor Huang's condition to you long ago. You shouldn't have had to be this worried for this long."

"No, I didn't ask," Alex admitted. "I… I've been too afraid, honestly."

The nurse said, gently, "The infection is overwhelming him, which is why he's been unconscious for so long; his body is taking all the sleep it can get. The infection is completely wearing him out, and the antibiotics are making that worse. But even so, his vital signs are stable, and the antibiotics are doing their job- they may have unpleasant side effects like the fatigue, but they are still helping him. We remain hopeful that he'll be able to turn the tide soon, and when he gets a little stronger, he should wake up. He's survived this long, and it's doubtful he'll succumb now; if he wasn't going to survive, he most likely would have died already. There's still a chance of it happening, of course, if something goes wrong- for example, if he becomes septic as a complication of the infection- but his prognosis is still good; much better than when he came in."

George wished he could have told them he was awake, or at least aware, but he couldn't muster the strength. And in any case, it didn't matter; he fell asleep again almost before he could finish the thought.

He woke just like that several times, catching snippets of conversations, usually about the state of his body and his prognosis, and losing consciousness again before he could alert them that he was awake. Each time, he feared he would never wake up again despite the doctors' predictions that he'd survive; that the arrhythmia would reoccur or some other complication of the infection would arise, and his heart would simply stop beating, and this time, they wouldn't be able to get him back. But every time, he still woke up.

Finally, a week after he'd first gotten sick- though he didn't know that it had been that long, as he'd lost track of time- he regained consciousness again, and this time he had enough strength to open his eyes. It was a struggle, but after several tries, he managed to pry them open, blinking several times as they were assaulted by overwhelmingly bright light. He winced, but his eyes soon adjusted.

Then he looked around, taking note of his surroundings. It was the middle of the night, and Alex was lying on the room's only sofa. He was in the ICU, though it was an isolated room; it seemed the doctors had decided he was at high risk of secondary infection.

The monitors beeped and hummed steadily, and the respirator breathed for him at an almost uncomfortably steady rate. He wished they would take it out, but he was clearly in serious condition- even if he wasn't critical anymore- and he doubted breathing on his own would provide his lungs with enough oxygen for his body.

The breathing tube was still in his throat, so he couldn't call to her, and he didn't have the strength to move at all. He knew that his illness wasn't the only culprit, that he was probably on some heavy drugs as well, but it still worried him. He waited several minutes for a nurse or doctor to come and check and him and see that he was conscious, but no one came; apparently they had finished their rounds just before he'd woken up, and wouldn't be back for a while.

He closed his eyes, wanting to give in to the pain and fatigue and fall asleep again. Just as he was about to give up, he heard Alex mutter something sleepily. He opened his eyes, looking blearily in her direction. If his arms hadn't been so heavy, he would have raised them to rub his eyes and clear his blurred vision.

Alex woke up and immediately caught sight of him. "George," she murmured in amazement, sitting up quickly. "You're awake." He blinked in affirmation, lacking the strength to hold his head up and nod. "I'm going to grab a doctor, okay?" Alex asked quietly. He blinked again. Then Alex left, and George struggled to force himself to remain awake.

They returned several minutes later. Alex stood at his side, gently holding his hand while the doctor spoke. "How are you doing, Doctor Huang?" The doctor asked. "I'm Doctor Yates, the on-call cardiologist." George wished he could answer.

"It's okay, your strength will return eventually," Doctor Yates said gently. "We are quite confident that you will recover. However, your condition is still very serious and will be for quite a while. We got the test results back. Our suspicions were correct; you have a severe cardiac infection. However, it's even worse than we originally thought it was; in fact, the fact that you're alive right now is just short of a miracle." He grabbed one of the scans of George's heart and pointed to it. "The infection was asymptomatically attacking your heart for quite a while before your collapse. Given the severity and the time it went untreated, honestly, you should be dead right now. If you had gotten in only a little later, we probably wouldn't have been able to treat it. And most patients with damage this severe wouldn't have survive that long at all."

George blinked and looked at the scan. Looking at it, he could see immediately that the doctor was right; his heart looked absolutely terrible, showing all the tell-tale signs of being severely infected. It looked like it was going to give out at any moment, and in some ways, it already had. He shuddered, amazed and more grateful than ever that he was alive at all.

"You're not out of the woods yet, but you are beating the odds and you're improving steadily, and now we are confident that you will eventual recover, though I'm afraid most of the damage to your heart will be permanent and irreversible. You will probably be easily fatigued and out-of-breath, and you will most likely develop congestive heart failure. You're in here for the long haul, but you will eventually recover to the point that you can go home, albeit with the side-effects I just listed," Doctor Yates said.

"However, I do have some good news for you. Even if your other vital signs are taking a long time to improve, your lungs have been improving steadily, and I think you will be ready to be extubated tomorrow morning. I know you're still feeling quite weak, but do you think you're strong enough to breathe on your own? You will still have an oxygen mask, of course. And if you find you aren't ready yet, you will be re-intubated." He set his hand in George's free one. "Squeeze twice if this is okay with you, Doctor Huang."

George's stomach fluttered happily at the thought of finally getting the tube out. Finally being able to breathe on his own and talk again, and not having to look so sick anymore. He managed to give a slight squeeze, two times.

"Okay, then. Now, I'm going to do a quick exam and then I'll let you sleep," Doctor Yates said.

Alex smiled at him, stroking his forehead gently as he sighed inwardly in and closed his eyes, content. "See, George, I told you that you were going to make it. I wasn't going to let you go that easily." George smiled weakly around the breathing tube.

"Miss Cabot has refused to leave except to use the restroom and get food," Doctor Yates chimed in. "You're very lucky to have such a devoted friend."

That made George feel a little uneasy. What about her job? Surely there wasn't a way she could just take off for however many days had passed, without giving a warning.

"Don't worry about work. ADA's are a dime a dozen and since I have barely had a sick day the last few years, the DA understood, though he asked me to try and hurry back," Alex assured him, seeing the look on his face.

"Okay, then, let's get started so you can go back to sleep," Doctor Yates said, pulling out a blood pressure cuff. He tested George's blood pressure, which was low. "So we'll get you some more fluid in your IV," he said. Then he moved on to George's eyes. They were dilated but that was because of the heavy drugs- morphine and several others. He took George's temperature, which was starting to come down and was now hovering at 103.5 degrees. George still felt cold, since the fever was still high enough to cause chills, but the fact that the fever was going down at all was another good sign.

"Looking better," he said, smiling. "You're on the road to recovery. I'm going to have a nurse come in here to finish up and give you some more medication. Do you have any questions?"

George managed a slight shake of his head, and Alex said, "I don't have any questions either. Thank you."

"Have a nice night, you two," Doctor Yates said, exiting the room.

The nurse from a few days earlier- Sally, George remembered- entered. "You back among the living?" She asked lightly as she stuck a needle in the crook of his elbow and started to draw a few vials of blood.

George smiled weakly around the breathing tube. She set a gentle hand on his shoulder and attached a bandage over his inner elbow, then removed the needle and pressed the bandage to his arm firmly. Then she turned to his IV, adding a few bags and injecting more medication into others. "That should do it," she said finally. "You were due for some pain medication, so I put it in your IV. It'll probably knock you out soon."

She straightened things up, and then she left Alex and George alone. Alex started massaging George's forehead with one hand, squeezing his hand gently with her other. "I know you still feel like hell, so I'm going to let you go back to sleep. But before you do… Thank you." She smiled at George's questioning look. "Thanks for not leaving me behind. You're my best friend."

George's eyes watered, and he squeezed her hand as best he could with his low muscle strength. Though he and Alex had always been close, he had never realized before this just how deep the bond went. He had a lot he'd have to tell her once the breathing tube got removed tomorrow, he thought.

He felt safe and protected, and Alex was helping him relax, easing him to sleep. He smiled softly. This was the first time he hadn't felt afraid to fall asleep since this whole mess had started. Even if he did have permanent impairment to his heart because of the infection, it couldn't be worse than it had been. Permanent damage wouldn't kill him outright, unless it was progressive like congestive heart failure, but if that was the case, there were options, even if they were unpleasant and drastic. There was still a chance something would go wrong, but that was mostly in the long term, and for now he was safe. He was going to recover, and he knew Alex would stay by his side through every step.

He nodded off quickly, and this time he slept soundly, and with no nightmares.

Alex leaned back in her chair, relieved. She watched George sleep with a gentle smile, letting her thoughts wander. George was going to be here for at least a few more weeks, and she would have to return to work the day after tomorrow. But she knew she'd be able to come see him for at least an hour or two a day, and she'd support him as much as possible.

She was the only one who'd been with George during all this. The detectives were working several cases, and they barely had time to go home, let alone come see George, but they did ask for updates every so often. George was estranged from his family, so they didn't even know anything had happened. She hated that someone like him had had to be almost all alone through all this, but she was happy to be his supporter.

But she was worried that she wouldn't be enough to help him on his long road to recovery. George would have to work hard over the next few weeks to become strong enough to be discharged, and he'd need a lot of support and encouragement. But if they'd gotten through this, there was no doubt in Alex's mind that they could survive anything.

She grabbed a washcloth that had been setting on a nightstand near the bed and wet it with some cold water. Then she set it on George's forehead, running the cloth over the warm skin gently. It wasn't often that she showed her caring side to anyone besides victims, but she was happy to be able to remind herself of who she really was.

George was going to be okay, and that was all that mattered. She wasn't going to lose her best friend any time soon. And yet she still couldn't shake all her nervousness away. She chalked it up to the tense, stressful week, but she couldn't help but think that there was something more to it, that maybe things weren't going to be quite as good as they thought.


End file.
